


Sunrise House

by DesertVixen



Category: The House of the Rising Sun - Dolly Parton (Song)
Genre: Gen, Haunted House, back story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 09:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14734641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: The House of the Rising Sun has a new owner...





	Sunrise House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/gifts).



It looked like any of the other houses in the area – a little run down with age, a little shabby with time – on the outside.

The inside, however, was another story. The lower story was one large open area, except for a kitchen that desperately needed updating and an oversized powder room. The second story had plenty of small rooms, perfect for a girl or a pair of girls. The staircase was a stupendous spiral that Jolie knew was impractical as hell, but suddenly she needed it.

Under the dust and neglect, Jolie could see it had been bright, even garish, decorate with plush rich fabrics. Even the spiderwebs seemed somewhat more ornate than normal. And everywhere in the house, there seemed to be a faint smell of roses under everything else, even when she had cleaned every surface.

The house needed some love and repair, but she could provide that. It was exactly the sort of house she had been looking for. It was relatively low priced, even after needed renovations. It was the perfect place for her to carry out her grandmother’s last wish, the creation of a home for girls who had nowhere else to go. Her late grandmother had left her enough money to accomplish the task as long as she was smart and careful. The house was like an answer to her prayers.

There was some furniture left in the house, some of which Jolie recognized as antiques that might bring in some cash. She had been working on the ground floor of the house, identifying needed repairs and cleaning for two days before she made her way to the attic.

The attic was a treasure trove. Furniture shrouded under cloths, steamer trunks full of old-fashioned clothes, and a collection of paintings and photographs. Jolie totally lost track of time, studying all the clothing and jewelry and examining the pieces of furniture. She had to get an appraiser in to look at the attic, although there were definitely some things she was keeping for herself. There was a gorgeous dark red thirties-style evening dress that looked like it would exactly fit her, and some pieces of jewelry that suited her personal style.

The paintings and photographs were the most intriguing. Jolie had caught on that this hadn’t been a family home or orphanage, but rather a house of ill-repute. Several of the photographs showed not-quite-respectable ladies in definitely-not-respectable clothing, including one that looked a little like herself, she thought with a laugh – a woman reclining on a couch in a very revealing outfit and a welcoming smile. The paintings varied – landscapes, some not-very-good still lifes, and some portraits. One of the portraits resembled the woman in the photograph, but the best one was of a flashy, buxom blonde woman in an emerald green evening gown, the bias-cut bodice barely containing the woman’s chest, with a beautifully designed brooch drawing attention to her cleavage. Jolie smiled – the brooch was totally not needed, but it was the piece she had liked the most.

It was too nice a portrait to have hidden away in an attic, so lifelike that Jolie almost expected the woman to speak to her. Instead, she carried it down to her bedroom while she tried to decide on the best place to hang it. She’d chosen one of the largest rooms for herself, in part because it had a ridiculously ornate bed – Jolie didn’t even want to think about trying to remove it. Climbing on to the bed with a simple quilt and sleeping in a tank-top and shorts made her feel a little out of place, but she had fallen in love with the heavy four-poster at first glance.

Jolie wasn’t sure what woke her up, but she found herself sitting up in the dark, hearing noises that didn’t sound like the house settling. It sounded like…music, a party of sorts. Perhaps the neighbors were having people over very late, she thought. And yet, when she slid out of bed, she reached for the Louisville Slugger she kept handy, just in case. Her neighbors hadn’t struck her as the party type. Maybe it was just tiredness, but the scent of roses seemed stronger somehow. For a half-second, Jolie thought she heard a woman’s throaty laugh, but she told herself it was simply her imagination.

She could see the glow of light downstairs and frowned. The only working light fixture was a floor lamp, and its bulbs would not put out that sort of light. The roses still hung in the air, but now she could smell something else, something that worried her. 

Smoke.

She hurried to the staircase. A fire would be a disaster in this old house. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped, utterly confused.

The room was…alive. There was no other word for it.

*** 

Smoke hung in the air like a haze – not fire, she realized, but tobacco smoke. Men with hard eyes sat at tables playing cards and drinking, while others stood at a bar that didn’t exist in her house. A small thin man played the piano – a rollicking tune that she didn’t recognize – and some people danced.

The women were everywhere, in bright colors and low-cut dresses that advertised their abundant charms. Some wore evening gowns, while others wore ridiculously elaborate lingerie that covered very little indeed. They sat in laps and giggled while men played, or leaned over their shoulders, and out of the corner of her eye Jolie could see women heading upstairs – pulling or being pulled by men.

And none of them seemed to notice her at all, this modern intruder in pajamas and armed with a baseball bat that would do her absolutely no good. Part of her brain was screaming that her house was haunted, that she should run upstairs and hide under her quilt. Another part of her brain whispered that it wasn’t her home tonight. Instead it was… _hers_.

The throaty laugh Jolie had imagined hearing earlier sounded again. Turning her head, Jolie could see the woman from the portrait. The blonde wore the green dress from her portrait and lounged on a white velvet divan. Jolie thought it would be a pain to clean, but it provided the perfect foil for her beauty. Her voice was like Southern honey, slow and sweet as she entertained the men standing around her. 

The place was pure decadence, Jolie thought, recognizing some of the furniture and art as ones she had seen in the attic. It was like a Hollywood fantasy, some lavish period piece that she would have been thrilled to watch on the big screen. 

Then she saw the woman who resembled her, wearing the same dark red dress that Jolie had set aside for herself. She walked arm in arm with a tall man who Jolie felt she should know, somehow, laughing up at him as she guided him to the spiral staircase.

Jolie was vaguely aware of time passing, but she was so fascinated by everything she saw. And yet, the more she watched, the more she saw the tinges of darkness underneath everything. She could see bruises that makeup didn’t quite conceal, the forced gaiety in some of the laughs, the way some of the women drank deeply, as if they were searching for strength or oblivion. The romance was fading fast, and all she could see was the ugliness. This was exactly the sort of thing that her grandparents had fought against, campaigned against, and what had fueled their legacy to her.

There was a bit of a commotion, and Jolie turned to see the woman who looked like her, this time dressed in a severe gray dress that had an air of shabbiness, of being out of style. Now Jolie could see the shadows under her eyes, the strain on her features, the fear and nerves. She boldly walked up to the blonde madam, the man following her closely.

“I’m leaving.” The words were simple, but Jolie realized it was so quiet that she could have heard a pin drop, that she could hear her own heart beating. “I’m leaving this place, Stella.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow. “Again? So soon? You’ll be back, Jules.”

Jules shook her head. “Not this time. Frank is makin’ an honest woman out of me.”

Stella smiled, a not-nice smile. It was a smile like a cat stalking a mouse. “No one ever really leaves the House of the Rising Sun…except in a pine box.”

Jolie stared. Frank? Jules? But those were her grandparents’ names…

“She won’t be back. Ever.” Frank’s deep voice was firm.

Stella shrugged. “Like I give a damn anyway. Just leave everything I’ve given you.”

Jules laughed bitterly. “I’m walking out of here with the clothes I wore in. I wouldn’t take anything you gave me.”

Jolie wanted to run forward, wanted to look more closely, but she seemed rooted in place. She watched as Frank and Jules walked to the door. As they stepped through it, the scene dissolved around Jolie until she stood in the empty room in her pajamas, holding a baseball bat.

*** 

In the morning, she decided it must have been a dream, a very weird dream. She arranged for an antiques dealer to come in and view the attic, after which she received a substantial deposit to her bank account. She had decided to keep several of the jewelry pieces, and after some serious thought, the dark red dress and the photograph of the woman who resembled her. Jolie had no hesitation about letting the dealer take the blonde woman’s portrait, although she had photographed it. She noticed that the scent of roses vanished soon afterwards.

There was a lull while she was waiting for some of the professional renovation to be done – particularly the kitchen – and so Jolie decided to spend some time examining public records, looking for a little information on the house. There wasn’t a lot to be found, although she did find some newspaper articles that identified a Stella LeBeau as the notorious madam, with a grainy photograph that bore a striking resemblance to the portrait she’d sold.

The big shock came when she received a large package from her grandmother’s lawyer. The note he included explained that he had finally emptied her grandmother’s safe deposit box, in accordance with her will, and it had been her desire for Jolie to receive it. She had been rather excited, especially when she found the envelope of old photos. She had pictures of her grandparents, but it was when they were her grandparents, when they were already older. The fourth picture she pulled out of the envelope was the one that surprised her. It showed the woman from her dream, the one who resembled her, wearing a severe gray dress, next to a man in a dark suit. On the back, it read “Our wedding day” in her grandmother’s neat precise handwriting.

Maybe…just maybe, it had not been a dream after all. It confirmed a decision she had made after much thought, however – that the home for girls would be called Sunrise House.

Jolie thought her grandmother would have approved.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope you liked it! It incorporates some of your prompts but isn't exactly like them. I blame the genesis of the story on listening to the audiobook of Haunted in Death, which features a haunted establishment.


End file.
